


Parables of Empathy

by PipesFlowForeverandEver



Series: Hymns of Struggle [3]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: As of now there is no severe violence but there is minor violence and some scary moments, Developing Friendships, Hurt/Comfort, Male-Female Friendship, Minor Coarse language, Mystery, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sammy survived Bendy, two messed up people trying to heal as best they can
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-03-25 09:17:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13831134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipesFlowForeverandEver/pseuds/PipesFlowForeverandEver
Summary: What's there to live for after you die? You struggle to exist- to make it all the way to your Lord- and all that greets you is Hell wrapped through your own flesh. Purgatory must be real after all. I pray and I pray and finally, something comes. Everything is changing.  -An empathetic attempt to comprehend and console Sammy Lawrence and other residents of the studio.





	1. Into the Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> I only recently got an AO3 account, so I also have this fic posted on fanfiction.net. If you're worried about the authenticity of this posting, feel free to contact my fanfiction.net account of the same name and I'll verify for you that this work is not stolen.
> 
> This fanfic references violence and its aftermath as well as depictions of hallucinations and re-experiencing trauma. I do want to assure, however, that this fic attempts to realistically bring together two beings with deep emotional troubles in a way that does not romanticize abuse, but still acknowledges wrongdoings and the trauma of others' actions. 
> 
> This fic is an AU titled "Hymns of Struggle" that is based mostly or only on information based in Chapter 1-3 canon, my own idea of how the story possibly could have turned out as seen through the eyes of my OC. 
> 
> This third part will emphasize the humanity that emerges with the struggles of life and how we hope to love and be loved, and to understand and be understood. We can- and do- live on after hell on earth.
> 
> I mostly write this for both your enjoyment and mine, but comments still brighten my day if you have any thoughts.
> 
>  **Notes as of 5/18/18:**  
>  I'm just gonna keep an updated list at the end of this work and all the others of all the spectacular fanart you wonderful people keep making me that I'll never stop screaming about. I'll still be posting links in the notes of chapters as new art is made, but it makes sense to keep a big list somewhere!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”_ – Hebrews 11:1

Now what was that feeling again? 

Ah yes- it’s like this: 

There’s a warmth within you that burns like a candle, searching for something outside of yourself in this suffocating darkness. The wax figurine of a body that encompasses your heart drips and drips away until everyone can see what’s inside- that flame that shudders much like a firefly dances, yearning for another to fly across the stars with. It’s finally made its way through your layers of pain to color the universe, but you never expected that sustaining this beauty would be so hard. 

It’s just as dreary to be exposed to the elements as it is to remain hidden. It might be even worse; there’s a piercing vulnerability in revealing one’s core. The billowing wind, once shielded against, can sweep straight through you. It threatens to blow your flame out. And if you aren’t careful? Someone can even reach inside your chest to steal it away. 

How terrifying it is, then, to allow yourself to receive kindness. 

…Why do it at all? 

Because this is the very nature of souls. A fire that is kept smothered too long will surely die. And if it dies… 

We don’t know if it can ever come back. 

Yes, it is much scarier to cloak your essence in apathy and bitterness, to breathe out the smoke within you at whoever dares to come too close. This is what many do, though, because one too many times…they had trusted. 

What were the disciples going to be like as they leapt together into this abyss of uncertainty? 

The two lost to time were laid side by side, only content with their recent miserable existences once they discovered they had each other. Smiles lit their faces and gleamed with the sparks of revival. Sammy had been raised from the dead long ago, but it might have not been until this moment that he had ever truly been alive. Even as his bones drowned in ink, Sammy’s wick still flittered somewhere; it was starting to shine through him like a flashlight underneath a few feet of water, dim and yet so bright through a new moon’s glitter. This gift from Francine kept her living, too. Surely it would tear her apart more than any monster could to deny herself the embrace of companionship, and so it was either fate or her determination that led her to find it in the most unexpected of places. She loved the way this nestled in her arms like a bird seeking shelter in winter’s storm; it made her feel…meaningful. And so for that feeling, she’d endure the perils of sincerity. Maybe he would, too. 

But we cannot forget that other beings lurked these caverns as well, not knowing what they searched for but doing so regardless. It was all left in them as they waited for salvation. But beasts are only beasts as long as it is believed they are, and their souls still burn no matter how deep they’ve been buried in doubt. 

To be truly human is to be afraid, but to push on anyway. So it was for all of the studio, new and old. Time may erode memory, but not who you are. 

Such is it to have faith.


	2. Prayers to the Willow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.”_ \- Proverbs 13:12

And so they were laid upon the floor of the music department, just as we left them. The disciples had put aside the burdens of veneration, but they would soon return- return through the light that accompanied her arrival, green with renewed faith. 

It began halfway through a chuckle. The woman felt something push into her thigh as she rolled over to her side to face Sammy- 

And abruptly, the pressure she felt and the man before her clicked into a single concept. She realized something; she realized how as he had gifted her his wisdom and protection, she could gift him something of her own. 

A beautiful, terrifying idea came to be. 

She sat straight up and pulled her phone out of her pocket. Her eyes were wide- too wide for Sammy’s comfort. As he saw Francine’s shoulders rise in heavy breath, he sat up too, carrying a frown laced with concern. 

This was so sudden. Just a second ago they had been laughing, filled with ease, and now every muscle in her seemed taunt. As he studied her, the movements of her hands were noticed- sharp and abrupt presses and slides over the surface in her hands, like she conducted an orchestra waiting in the small box. It… 

It was… _moving_ with each touch. 

Without thought, Sammy’s upper body leaned towards the woman and her glass book. The tension in her body was released only through each and every lithe, practiced swipe of her fingers. He watched words come and go underneath their tips; shapes and pictures danced in and out of sight as the slightest of gestures seemed to push them off the edge of the screen, but they turned invisible as they tumbled off its edge. 

The assurance she had provided before their... “adventure” with Alice was a band-aid over a pothole dug three feet deep. The absolute bafflement and unbearable confusion from when she saw her in the ink trench bathed in illumination had rightfully returned. How ironic was it that as he showed her the miraculous - the impossible- so had she to him. 

And so despite the promise that she controlled…this… _wizardry,_ he was helpless to his fear. He knew not what this power was…whose it was. Not Bendy nor the realm of the studio had shown magic quite like this; that unsureness left him speechless. 

Her fingers stopped moving, and in his peripheral her torso had shifted. His gaze finally broke as she was revealed to be overcome with excitement; as her mouth broadened, it also began to curl, the top row of her teeth tugging back her bottom lip until it was released to mutter a voice that seemed as awed as he. 

Her look fell up and down over him, one last view before she changed his life once again. 

“What’s your favorite song?” 

…Oh. 

The frown remained where it was, but his entire demeanor was stilled- frozen as puzzlement seemed to stack upon itself. 

But to top it off? 

Sammy pursed his lips once he finally understood that the words in her question actually had a meaning. A meaning…to _him._ For once, he had an answer ready to grasp. Forgetting to wonder why she’d ask this at all, he remembered that a certain bit of him was calling out through his inky abyss of a mind. He was reluctant- it was a remnant of himself he didn’t know existed till this moment- but he permitted its release to her eager embrace. He hoped it was good to trust. Only one way to find out. 

_“Willow…Weep For Me,”_ he hardly uttered, words on his tongue like a wisp of wind. He felt the chill of nostalgia on his lips, somehow colder than the emptiness that usually occupied him. 

And almost as if she felt the wind of vulnerability blow through her too, she mellowed like a candle on the sill of an open window one rainy afternoon. Her eyelids dropped in a slow, knowing blink, and small dimples appeared at her cheeks. No, she’d never really comprehend what he felt. But this was probably as close as she could to, and it softened her through and through just as quickly as she had been sparked alight. 

But almost just as soon, her countenance shifted. 

“I’m afraid I…don’t know that one.” 

As was his way, Sammy’s response was a thought unfiltered by words, only expressible through action. Her head turned to follow as he lifted himself off the floorboards and stepped over her legs; it tilted as he trudged to the corner, near that recording booth with a tape next to it. Finally, it rose with her body as she joined him by his side. 

His fingers parted from each other as they strived to find their proper place on the piano’s keys. It took a long time, but one of the things the woman’s uncoated form had reminded him was that he used to have five fingers on each hand instead of four. As instinct came with memory, the impulses he felt were like phantom pains- telling him to place his fingers where they could not possibly be all at once. 

Or at least they couldn’t now that two were missing. 

The arch in his back as she watched over his shoulder seemed to bend tighter at this, a tangible show of his lament and frustration- a reminder of why he prayed day after day that this all would end one way or another. 

“You okay?” 

Francine was leaned over, slanted to gaze at the player in anticipation. His cracked head turned to her, and he was silent. Suddenly, he forcefully hung it back over his misshapen hands, his fires refueled as he recalled the desire that set his passion ablaze in the first place. 

Spite and determination had been the driving force of talent in the life of Sammy Lawrence the music director, and they had morphed to birth the faith that kept Bendy’s loyal prophet from sinking into total despair. He had taught himself to play every instrument a few fingers short; translating a song on the rim of his consciousness was nothing compared to the damnation it’d be to fall prey to the waiting jaws of idleness and hopelessness. No, he would not- could not- be complacent to his curse. 

And so he finally touched the keys and filled the quiet with the noise of his heart. 

It was…surprising. A surprising sound- not at all what Francine expected. For some reason, her understanding of older tunes skipped straight from the classical period to the folk songs of the 60s. As such, she didn’t know exactly what era of time Sammy was pulled from, but it was now clear to even she that he was still there. 

They were both taken aback with the recognition that his soul was being inserted into each press of the keys. They could see it in how gently his arms swayed in perfect marriage with the melody, flowing so naturally despite only just recovering a love long lost. With her dawning amazement, they could witness it wander from a mouth trembling from the exposure he allowed. 

His singing voice was…it was… 

Unexpected. 

His cool tone held a tint of sweetness; the airiness of his voice was displayed as the perfect medium for the sad whimsy of the lyrics. As each word fell in tandem with each note of the piano, he weaved a poem. Despite being sharp and plucky like a playground rhyme, it was undoubtedly a song about suffering. It fit Sammy very well; it begged for sympathy from the largest, looming figure in one’s life- the being that towered and draped its shadow over those seeking refuge at its feet. 

It was a song that knew no one else would listen as he wept. 

And yet there was…solace. Even as the chirpiness of it superficially seemed to bite with sarcasm, it was certainly a psalm true to his misery. As the last note rang, its tremor drifting further away from them to scatter throughout the walls, the anxiety in his fingers did not leave him…but they did seem to find some peace, a scrap of hope to cling to and reassure that he was still a being of some competence. His chest compressed, and he released a sigh seeped in relief and weariness. He did it. Once again, he proved to himself that there was indeed a human buried somewhere inside him, and that Bendy must have sympathy for the anguish of disciples. 

In just a few minutes, he gave Francine a gist of how someone could give their all to a behemoth that didn’t seem to pay immortals much mind. 

Even as he had made his heart bare, Sammy kept his skull suspended over the scratched piano. He didn’t know what to say or do next; he was simply left behind with his hollow victory. And so the woman decided it was the least she could do to help him step back to reality. 

“Sammy, that was…” She looked him over once again, observing the state he was left in after demonstrating a pure, utter mastery he humbly uncovered. “That was _incredible._ ” 

There was no understatement in this. Her musical comprehension was crude- a sketch compared to his finalized painting of melodious ideation. How telling it was that even through decades of isolation, Sammy retained a might that could enrapture Francine, someone only recently removed from an existence saturated with music almost every waking minute, as was the way for all those not swallowed by the ink all those years ago. Maybe it only made sense though. He was, after all, a maestro at his core. 

It was enough for her to forget what her intentions were, what brought them to this point. 

…Just for a moment. 

The atmosphere of the room would soon teeter into to one of complete enchantment, a charm that seemed to war against the drear pulsed from the ink machine. 

“I have to show you something,” she had said. 

And then everything changed. 

She stood behind his back as he sat in front of the speckled keys, rounding her arm beside his neck to place the phone a small distance from his face. It no longer required her touch to swish pictures in and out of reality. The visage of an orchestra now swayed before him- an actual band, filtered by the yellow of aging film and flickering spots of black alongside cracks in the audio. 

His jaw dropped and he began to peer so close to the tiny movie screen that a glow splashed over his mask. 

Francine smiled as the rectangle portal carried Sammy back home, his favorite song calling back to him through a passage ages away, trapped in another universe. 

And then this became the day she fully explained to Sammy what her phone was as best as she could- its blessing of connectivity, its union of parts of time and space that could never exist all at once but somehow, still did…much like she and him. With a small, guiding grin, she let him hold and experiment with the screen, granting him her alchemy; they were consumed with his reaction to modernity, her gentle bestowment of the nearly unlimited. Somehow, she was able to avoid the topic of reuniting with her family. Thankfully he did not think to ask why she hadn’t used it for such communication, but…the fantastical nature of his amazement and curiosity was still tinged with her remorse. 

Yes, it could bring them the world, but that was still only so much. It was a magnificent, treacherous moment for them both to see shades of the outside world stain but not remove the scourge of the studio and fill them with something beyond their reach. 

And yet, it was all worth it to play song after song from Sammy’s past- to see how his fingertips reverently patted at the images of men rising the bells of their horn to the sky, feeling the vibration of sounds from his history emerge through the speaker. 

Although neither of them would ever fully understand the other, they both managed to trek past the fogs of grief so they may find a friend. 

Maybe this was Bendy’s answer to his eternities of prayer, and maybe it was bringing him closer and closer to the person he was intended to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a recording of the version of the song Sammy most likely would have heard (fun fact- it's canon that it's his favorite song according to his Hot Topic takeover!): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q_2vtg00iKw


	3. Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Be not far from me, for trouble is near; For there is none to help.”_ \- Psalm 22:11

The impression of the violin’s strings was still digging into her fingertips as she and Sammy exited the band room, fresh from her first lesson. Had she ever picked up a violin before? No. Any string instrument at all? No. Did it sound like something besides a dying eagle? No. But would Bendy still enjoy it regardless? 

Absolutely, Sammy had said. 

Her cheeks still burned red with embarrassment- a reaction to Sammy’s frustration. And yet despite her atrocious start, he was…patient. 

_“There, just like that.”_

_“Good.”_

_“No, no-! Here. Like this… No, put it_ here. _And now-! …Better.”_

Of course, at least every other word out of his mouth was tinged with irritation, but to hear his satisfaction was…fulfilling. Francine could think of a few reasons why as he walked ahead into the main hall of the music department, the glaze of his shoulders shifting with each step under the overhead lights. One, he was talented- truly, sincerely, and utterly talented. He could pluck the banjo like he was casting a spell; he had just swept his arms over the piano like his very presence brought it to life, its driving purpose to sing what he could not tell. His mastery- her undying admiration for him and all like him- was obvious. So what was the second thing? 

The weight of esteem sunk down her torso with a catch and release of the dusty air. 

She was glad to spend time with him like this. In the entrails of the studio, there was no choice to simply dissolve, to submit and to die once and for all. If one had to suffer an eternity of hope- of the constant breathlessness one feels as a child does waiting for the last school bell to ring- it was certainly ideal to spend it with someone you aren’t afraid of. 

…Someone you aren’t afraid of. 

She paused at this notion, arrested mid-step. Francine’s comfort melted away as Sammy noticed and returned his gaze, curious and concerned. 

As the torn, roughed face of Bendy looked back upon her, the pains of the angel rung in her ears. She could see once again Alice’s scowl stare down at Francine while addressing Sammy. She remembered…she remembered the angel disagreeing with everything she believed the prophet to be. 

_“You found another toy, didn’t you?”_

Her heart skipped a beat, and Sammy turned to face her, silent. 

_“…I haven’t heard that name in a very…very…long time.”_

She felt her lip tremble with her pulse as his head tilted, wondering. 

_“I thought you gave that name to our ‘savior.’ You know, like everything else about you?”_

Sammy’s hand raised, reaching to the woman. In the sudden culmination of everything that had led Francine to participate in his worship of Bendy, a flash of doubt stuck her like a sword through the gullet. 

_“Not that you had much to give in the first place.”_

Her physical recoil at his reach would bring the worst feeling Sammy ever had. 

He was left alone, observing his fingers outstretched as the image of his friend hyperventilating rested ahead, purposefully avoiding his consolation. 

His reaction to hers was enough to bring Francine back. 

No. No. 

As she could sense sadness and repulsion towards his own nature wash over him, she remembered that he was different now. He needed to be. It was the only explanation. She _shouldn’t_ be afraid of him. 

He observed her expression of dawning fear melt away, leaving her brow furrowed and her mouth open in thought. 

What was Alice talking about, then? 

Ah yes, this topic couldn’t be avoided any longer. And with it came mysteries decades old that anyone that had been here a second more than Francine would be too fearful to so much as touch them. 

* * *

“I’m…I’m really sorry.” 

His spine rested backwards, vertebrae and shoulder blades skimming against the “MUSIC DEPARTMENT” sign, a smaller print of “DIRECTOR: SAMMY LAWRENCE” teasing beside his waist. His head was hung in such a matter that it only could look at his crossed arms and his outstretched leg, the other bent at the knee and pressed where the wall met the floor. He was shuddering, and she knew then the absolute harm she had unleashed. 

Of course, any fear was reasonable in this place, but… 

The way the corner of his mouth pushed into his cheeks, allowing his teeth to glimmer ever so slightly, reminded her that fear still had consequences. 

Watching his body language with utmost care- still not enough to make up for what had just occurred- the woman approached his side and paralleled his lean, eventually lowering her own stare to her folded hands. Her face was red again, but the twang of guilt that accompanied it felt so much more punishing than any awkwardness had been earlier. Francine was experiencing the regret of allowing her doubt physical manifestation- just a second long enough for his own to be born. And unlike hers, his was not going away. 

They both felt so small, alone, standing next to each other, trying to imagine what could possibly come next. 

“I’m really sorry,” she could only say again. 

The flesh underneath his fingers was slightly malleable, small dents created by their force. They deepened just a little more at her words, and he sighed. The edge of his lips was round and dark against the grey backdrop of the studio once he turned a little further away. 

Oh god, what could she say? 

Her own lips were sucked inward under her teeth, scraping as she tried to uncover the best relief she could provide. 

…The truth. 

“I was…I was thinking about…Alice.” 

He gasped quietly, shoulders raised and chin twitching her direction. She didn’t know what this meant- nor what Alice meant for the matter- but this seemed better somehow. And so Francine continued. 

“She seems to…know a lot about you.” 

It was a simple statement that dropped a truth much heavier than she ever intended. Alice… _did_ know a lot about him. The woman’s next words were both a verbalization of puzzlement as well as a plea to understand. 

“She knows you, Sammy.” 

She witnessed his mouth close, and his glare returned to his legs. 

“…I suppose she does.” And nothing more. 

His next gasp was much louder and his next raise of the head much quicker as his grip was joined by hers, her hold tightening his forearm. 

“She knew your _name.”_

And suddenly it was all unavoidable. The heart-racing comprehension of the incomprehensible was now a shared experience, and her actions of bitterness melted into those of overwhelming anxiety through his perspective. In the back of his head, he thanked Bendy it wasn’t him that she feared. 

But this would mean that Alice knew his name… _before he did._

As his demeanor warped to match this new distress, her grasp softened. As she saw the quiver of his arms return, a strange and unexpected determination crawled into her. 

“I want… I think…” She gulped away her apprehension; one needed to be as willful as possible for what she was daring to say. 

“We need to talk to her.” 

And even though Sammy stared at her in utter shock, they both believed her to be right. But…but… 

“How?” he questioned incredulously, smuggling his foreboding of the unknown behind proper logic. “She hates me, Francine.” Almost soundlessly, he added, “She hates everyone.” Firm so he may convey the proper level of danger, his mask swayed to look down upon her. “I…I didn’t-…” 

Oh, how it frightened her to see him so unsure of his words. She caught a glimpse of an exhale, steadying him for the inevitable. 

“There’s a reason I didn’t want you to know she existed. She’s… _directly_ opposed to Bendy and his mercy.” He leaned towards her, desperate to communicate his dread. “Gentle sheep shouldn’t know they stray so close to the clutches of evil.” 

Her blood turned to ice as his hand began to caress the side of her face. It was so mindlessly intimate, unfiltered as he was overpowered by so many terrible possibilities. His voice quaked with an unprecedented amount of disturbance, hardly audible through his realization. 

“I could never be forgiven if I let you die, not after all Bendy did to bring you to me.” 

Breathless. 

Shaking. 

Scared. 

Not Sammy nor Francine had consciously acknowledged till this moment exactly what she had brought to him. It was…a lot. A lot to take in in such a short moment. 

His tenderness made her sharp with resolve. 

“You- you still should know, Sammy.” The woman frowned up at him, an effort to force away his sheltering of both her and himself. “You deserve to know.” 

Taken aback, his hand gradually lowered to his side. The two disciples stared at their mirror, faith in one another battling with care. 

He had one last attempt in him to sway her from danger. It would instead deliver her straight to it. 

“The angel has never listened to me, and never will. My very presence would dissuade any measure of reconciliation.” 

Francine’s eyes slid to the floor. He was right. The mere mention of his name was enough for Alice Angel to retrieve every shred of compassion she seemed to have for the mortal, replacing it with odium for each little thing that happened next. No, she had to admit, Sammy seemed unable to coax a single word of clemency from her, and clemency was what they asked for. 

The ink man saw her face soften, and he loosened in relief. It was so short lived. 

“Then I’ll go without you.” 

* * *

What a horrible compromise they had made, he realized as he saw her figure shrink smaller and smaller as she trudged ahead. He should have been with her, but he could not. It was the only way this could bring about even the lightest dash of wisdom Alice seemed to possess. 

Did he really want this that badly? 

His fingers creased as they held the edge of the entrance, growing more and more taunt with each creak of the staircase she stepped on. Soon, the “HEAVENLY TOYS” banner was directly over her head. She looked back at him. Even so far away, her expression was visible. Eyes wide with stress, fists balled in anticipation…mouth curved in reassurance. 

Francine had promised that if she thought she needed him, she’d scream. He recalled the nervous humor that glinted over her as she reminded him that he knew how loud she could scream. 

He asked himself again: did he really want this that badly? 

Yes, it was true that he had hid from himself- since the moment he saw Francine at the angel’s feet- that she seemed to know things about him that he did not. He did want to know, of course. There seemed to be a reason she loathed Sammy and all associated with him…besides her obvious but inexplicable vexation for Bendy. But no, that couldn’t be all of it. Not anymore, not after what she had said. 

The woman gradually shifted her head forward to the workshop, shoulders raising and falling in preparation, but she could never be ready. She slipped into the darkness and out of his sight. 

No, he didn’t want this nearly as much as she did. 

* * *

The shelf was aside as she had left it. It accepted her entrance but…somehow seemed to whisper she should not. She pushed past this invisible barrier to reach into the angel’s light. 

The screening room was dark. A few shards of glass shone on the floor, a soft glow reflecting the visage of cartoons above on the TVs, same as before. But Francine faced a roadblock she never considered. 

In the space ahead before filled, no one was left standing. 

“Alice?” 

The woman recognized how quiet her call was. She inhaled to say it again, but it was released in a yelp at the next occurrence. 

_“Francine,_ was it?’ A voice fuzzed from a speaker overhead. “What…a _lovely_ surprise this is. And so soon…!” 

The mortal glowered, unsure if this was sarcasm or not, but shook her head; it did not matter. “I…I-I need to talk to you.” She closed her eyes, trying to calm. “P-please.” 

It was such a terrifying silence until the speaker crackled again in reply. 

“It’s about Sammy, isn’t it?” 

Indeed it was. Maybe Alice could see her face, because not a word needed to be said for confirmation. 

“I…” 

Francine stared at the speaker with such great intensity that her eyes burned. 

“…I understand. You have my _deepest_ apologies about before. To you, not him.” One could almost hear her sneer. _“There’s someone I think you should talk to. Oh don’t_ look so incredulous; of course there’s someone else that knows Sammy.” 

Regardless of it is was a jeer or a genuine inquiry, the next question shook Francine to her core. 

“How much did he k _eep secret from you,_ little cherub?” 

There wasn’t enough time to realize how fast her pulse was, how much her eyes blinked over and over and over in shock. 

“You can find him on Level 14, right out of the elevator up ahead.” Sickeningly sweet, turning her stomach. _“He’s a kindly man, one who knew Sammy very well. I’m sure he’ll be willing to help you.”_

And the speaker clicked, signaling the end of the siren’s lure. Francine was downright vibrating with trepidation. She had to go back and tell all this to Sammy- 

_“Where are you going, dear? T_ he elevator is the other way.” 

It hadn’t even been a second of looking back before Alice made this comment; yes, she was certainly watching. 

Dear god. 

This was a crossroads. The woman could go back to Sammy, either in retreat or to inform him that she’d be going…who in the hell knows where. Definitely further than she had imagined, that was for fucking sure. Would he be able to hear her scream even one room further in than planned? 

But…if she did go back, would she lose this opportunity for good? Would Alice ever speak to her again? Would she tell…this… _someone_ not to speak to her, either? 

Which would be worse: to divulge Sammy’s presence, or to completely discard it? 

Her gut made that choice before her head could. 

As she went deeper into the castle of toys, a swear under the woman’s breath was accompanied by the chirp of her guardian angel. 

“Oh, by the way? His name is Norman.”


	4. A Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due, when it is in your power to act.”_ \- Proverbs 3:27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have fanart for my fic from an amazing friend! Take a look!!!
> 
> http://aceofintuition.tumblr.com/post/171466863588/and-as-she-gazed-upon-the-very-face-that
> 
> http://aceofintuition.tumblr.com/post/170701725213/fanart-for-hat-engineers-lovely-fic-hymns-of

How soon was it that there came yet another fork in the road. 

“THE DEMON” 

“THE ANGEL” 

Francine both physically and mentally leaned from one side to the other, trying to figure out which way seemed safest. The left- the demon- seemed darker from this angle, but… 

A small giggle rang from overhead. 

…Angels weren’t exactly the most uplifting concept at this moment. Might as well investigate her choices, right? 

And so Francine stepped into the most hellish of the paths. It would soon be clear it wasn’t only hell as a metaphor. Her heart nearly jumped into her throat as she found the hauntingly familiar sight of a hallway totally entrenched in ink. No way. No way she’d go through that again, and so she turned around so she may take the journey of angels. 

_Pah-tunk!_

“…You’ve got to be kidding.” 

No, whomever had the power to open and close the routes of this studio’s past was certainly not fooling around. The entry of the heavenly lane had closed shut. Francine lifted and lifted the metal gate until her fingers ached, and not even a few kicks of frustration could unhinge it. 

_Shit and goddammit._

From where she stood, a sliver of the doorway stared at her like a slit eye. And it was then she recognized that a hero’s epoch to great treasure required every drop of bravery one possessed. 

Feeling the voice on her tongue waver in fear, she made the decision to take out her phone and press “play” on her music shuffle. As she stepped into the river Styx once more, she hoped it could calm both her and whatever monsters lied in wait once she broke through their veil. 

* * *

_“ Now that…is a beautiful, and positively silly thought.”_

The last three words drifted out to her more quietly than the others, either a consolation or a warning to an odd girl that just wanted to feel like a person again. She memorized the printed name and the sound of the tape, pondering this psalm. 

Maybe Norman would be able to tell her about Joey, too. She wondered if he was with them somewhere, isolated within his own little slice of a haven in this perdition like everyone else seemed to be. 

More so, she hoped that there wasn’t a reason Sammy hadn’t mentioned him either. 

Someone was left with the weight of yet another upon their shoulders, yet another that deserved to be saved. But what could they do? 

* * *

First, the splatter of ink pouring down the middle of a ceiling, unavoidable like a baptism, resting upon her shoulder like a kind touch of the hand. 

Next, a turn around the corner with Bendy after Bendy in procession, his delighted sneer plastered to stare at every angle, never ceasing his vigilant watch of the being that had intruded his realm. 

Then, a toyshop filled with ink so thick it piled like snow plowed to the side of a road after a blizzard, settling over and around shelves and giant dolls. _“Tick tick tick tick tick!”_ the dancing clocks had chanted like criers for a king…or watchdogs of a warden. 

Despite all these things, she only ever thought about…well…she supposed she was thinking about everyone, but especially of her friend. She was trapped in the bleakest of worlds with a man that knew nothing about himself besides that he was not who he was intended to be. There was an angel who did carry such knowledge, but she was so scornful of the prophet that it had to be considered what happened in a past life to merit her fury. Yes, the woman trusted Sammy- the good nature left to him now must certainly be the core of his essence- but… 

…He must have done something that hurt her. 

A hand gripped around the railing that traced one last room before she’d descend to Norman. She let her phone rest upon it, too, its weak speaker somehow enough to spread notes all around the chamber. She felt like a warrior seeking for a mythical seer to guide her way, begging for answers so that she may survive. 

Francine felt her pulse pluck the inside of her wrists as she looked past them, down to the strikingly massive elevator; with the lyrics of this song fading away in a finale, she noted that it seemed to have been enough to pacify the dark beasts of the studio. A sigh passed her lips in gratitude, and she paused the music for good. 

She wandered down the stairs and entered her cage, the angel calling from overhead a final time to remind her that it was Level 14. 

* * *

There was a strange purr of emptiness here after that long journey down. And it seemed like…it seemed like… 

Another universe. 

She stood at the top of a tower overseeing a cavity somehow even bigger and more vacant than the entrance to Heavenly Toys. It took her breath away- as well as any hint of confidence she had before. Francine was so small now; she never noticed how less vulnerable one was when the walls seemed to be closing in. Now that they were as wide as a clearing in a forest, she felt like a young deer, unknowing and unseeing of dangers ready to pounce from the shade. 

She had to keep going though, not just for Sammy but for herself. This was her life now, she realized with prickling dismay. She had lost her family by her own volition and mercy, and so these beings of disgusting immortality were all she had left- at least for now. And so, she felt she needed to understand them and this existence, as what the people of the murk possessed was now and forever hers to bear as well. 

“God help me,” she whispered to someone outside of herself. 

And they would. 

* * *

This voice was different, but of course it was; she hadn’t heard it before. Still, it was…unexpected. 

Norman Polk spoke about himself in such a way that she could not deem if he was speaking about the projectionist in the life of the studio or of one present after its death. Her head lifted, absorbing the overwhelming abyss. Yeah, this must be the place. As the recording clicked in a finish, however, she had to ask herself: 

Where to start? 

Again, a right and a left. Gosh, there were so many of these, and the repetition of this decision was wearing her down to the bone. Well, she went left once, might as well go left again. 

It was such an unbearably dark hall. Distracted, she splashed just a bit too forcefully as she stepped forward; it made her shudder to feel the biting, cold ink drip down her ankle. A compulsion came over, her phone already again in hand and ready to turn on its flashlight…before a thought came. The tape said…he liked the dark? Or at least stayed in it. Truthfully, it wasn’t well understood, extremely vague to the woman’s limited acquaintance to the studio. 

She squinted a bit, noticing a flicker just up ahead. A pale shape solidified before her as she approached, and she found a projector was sitting on a low table. Her gaze trailed with its light until she beheld its picture. 

It was so unsettling, even as she comprehended that somehow, someway, electronics seemed to maintain their spark, just like…- 

She slipped her phone back to its pocket, content with the tease of streaming lights she could glimpse up ahead. Maybe it was nonsense, but the logic of this whole building seemed to be that anyway. And so, she resolved to walk forward without mixing her luminescence with that of a man she wished not to upset upon meeting. 

Despite the sloshing of her feet, the noises around her again seemed to match the pace of her heartbeat or vice versa. She never recognized before the clattering of the projectors was so loud, so fast, at least when the only other sounds were that of her steps and- 

Wait. 

She stopped where she was, flooded with the yellowed film of cartoons intended for a wall by her side. She listened. 

Something was moving. 

Delicately, she crept around the next corner. Yet more streams of cream, fuzzy light waited ahead. But… 

Yes, something was _definitely_ moving over there. One of the rays bobbed up and down ever so slightly, its source out of sight. Was it..? 

“Norman?” 

The beam ahead stilled…but nothing more. Her fists clenched. This was suddenly so much harder; a first call of curiosity left her mouth with ease, but it was dawning upon her that it was really, truly, falling upon someone’s ears. 

“Norman? I’m Fran-…Francine. Alice sent me- sent me to-” 

Her lips shook just as much as her sureness did. God, who was he anyway? Why in the hell did she just agree to come here without asking the angel a single question? She felt her head tremble, strands of hair shifting unpleasantly onto the sweat of her temple, but she was already too bothered by what was ahead to pay mind. 

The light seemed to tilt at its source, almost like a cocked head listening in thought. Whatever was going on, Norman seemed to…be waiting. For what? What else could she say? 

And in this moment, she made yet another strange, stupid decision. Maybe if it did something to the searchers, it could help here, too… 

And so she began to hum. Despite the back of her mind begging her to stop- that it may be demeaning this person’s intelligence- it was certainly more for herself. It was the only thing that seemed to keep her composed nowadays, the single ability at her disposal to survive the suffocating blackness and its fiends. A tinge of firmness gradually came to her voice, remembering how Alice said they were blessed with song- that it was what made them human. She felt something akin to the hope and desperation Sammy held when he prayed to his lord, teaching himself again and again that lifeless life could still have purpose. 

As the melody parted ways, lingering through the halls like a bottle of red dye dumped at her toes and spreading wherever the flow of ink led. She watched as one trail seemed to lead around the corner, towards the organically stirring radiance. 

It jumped up, scattering its ray more towards the woman's direction. Her growing smile fled as soon as it came once a deafening, unholy screech drenched the room. 

This wasn’t a man, not by her mortal standards. She had just enough time to comprehend that much as she almost fell over herself running away, a strand of light blinding her eyes as something shadowy beneath it rushed with unfathomable speed to do…to do… 

She didn’t want to imagine what this thing could do to her. 

Thank goodness she spotted a box in the corner of her sight just as she passed it. Francine threw the door open to the Little Miracle Station and likewise hurled herself inside, yanking the entry shut with all her might. But the overwhelming, all-consuming light soon flooded inside, that small window in the door still enough for the gape of this creature to fall upon the woman. Dust flickered like static around her beneath its illumination, matching the noise she heard just a foot or two from where she sat. 

She had felt hopeless, powerless many a time during her visit to the studio, but it was never as dreadful as this. A mixture of yelling and sobbing scratched up her throat as she held herself around the legs, fingernails digging into the material of her pants in anxiety. She was going to die. She was going to die. 

She didn’t notice the glow soften as she grew sharper and sharper with distress. 

And then, the worst kind of confirmation filled her soul as she noticed just in time the wood of her refuge rattle…until the creature managed to fling open the door, a crack thundering as it surely became unhinged. She was now fully enveloped in their sickly fire. 

It was so much more horrid, however, to _feel_ the vibration of her cries seep through fingers as they clasped around her throat and onto her mouth. Every fiber of her being poured into her screams. Even as she knew Sammy couldn’t hear her, this was all she could do to save herself. 

Palms, like leather soaked in water, rubbed against her skin. 

… 

… 

… 

And the grip that could snap her life in two still yet to do so. 

Painfully, her eyes fluttered open to look at blazing nothingness. The red veins of her eyelids flashed with each blink as her innate curiosity quieted her shrieks into soft yelps. Most of her force went straight into her heart now, creating a rhythm that pushed back at the hands that pressed not gently, but carefully back. 

No, it wasn’t her blinded eyes playing games hand in hand with her adrenaline. She could not wink away the sight of a movie projector- just like the others- seated upon the shoulders of a man desperate to feel what she possessed. Wires weaved in and out of their body as if threaded by a needle, and mechanical parts that should exist amid no flesh and blood were exposed as much as she was. 

Their…their… _“head”_ tilted as she began to quiet, overlooking her like a stranger upon a frightened, lost child. It took a very long time to realize that whatever motivated their touch…was not her death. 

Nor her silence. 

One large fingertip rested beside her lips, the remaining ones upon that hand curled and tense around the spotted side of her jaw. The left hand laid its thumb at her neck; a single, downward jab would have been enough to crush her spine. But that’s not what he wanted, was it? 

She wasn’t the only one shaking as his hands kept searching, uninterrupted by the tears rolling beneath his caress. It had stopped. Where did it go? Did she still have it? 

The man could not remember, but he still knew- he still knew there was something about this that was special, and he craved for more impulsively. 

The vibration had been replaced by another pulse inside her, much less shrill but still prevailing as it drummed under her skin. It beat faster as he slid his left hand from her throat to her collarbone, the source of this low throbbing that made every inch of her alive. 

As he did this, Francine maybe began to understand- just a little, through the fog of absolute fear in the face of the glaring unknown. 

A projector…a projector… 

_…The projectionist._

“…Norman? Are you Norman?” 

The woman yelped once again as hands returned to her face, rough with excitement. Her eyes shook in their sockets, unsure what to make of this, uncomprehending what he wanted of her. But momentarily, that didn’t matter. The advice of the angel echoed through her mind just after the name of this being did. 

“D-do you know who Sammy is?!” 

He only shifted his hands again around her face to better feel the sounds. As if it could see, the projector from up high minutely nodded up and down…not as an answer but to look her over in wonder. 

“Norman?” 

Nothing more than his watching and waiting for more, a small crackle emerging from the speaker in his chest. 

And that was when Francine realized he couldn’t tell her a thing. 

“God,” she whispered breathlessly, every opening of her face wide in shock and horror. Like every other soul here besides she, Norman was a broken, deformed shell of the person he used to be. The black magic of the ink tainted his blood and tried to strip him of humanity. 

As with the others, it did not entirely succeed, but the remnants it left him made it all the more excruciating. 

It was so…much more terrifying than the others, somehow, how the curse of the studio carved him into a plaything. He had no mouth to speak with, and his only voice was the static at his heart. Being so much to accept in this brief second, she had begun to cry again, but these tears served a very different purpose than those just a moment before. 

Unswayed by anything but the immediate environment and the animalistic drives of a previous life, Norman began to stop rummaging over her face so he may cup it in his hands. She was untouched and unaltered, nothing like he’d ever seen. Witnessing it was like looking upon heaven itself. 

He couldn’t hear a thing; the vibrations of sounds were what he had learned to sense and find. And hers were like no other. Both the projectionist and the intruder were frightened, awed, and pained at each other’s presence, filled with emotions that had no place in what should have been two unassuming existences. She was so weary with revelation that only pity allowed her hands to clasp his; she squinted upward to look him in the eye despite there being none, as it was the least she could do…and yet the most. He merely adjusted as she did so, maintaining his hold around her cheeks. But it was still enough of a reaction to seed a small consideration in her heart. 

And through its depths, both for herself and the projectionist, this heart knew it had nothing to give besides another song. 

It was…so difficult to make it out. So strenuous to keep herself from totally breaking apart in his grasp- not because of the strength he surely had but because of how frail she was observing person after person have something taken away from them that they never should have lost in the first place. Her refrain was a plea for forgiveness from someone that realized much too late the uncertainties human nature laid its foundation upon. How that there was nothing she could do for a being seemingly constructed for someone else’s amusement and then discarded without a second thought. 

Someone built a friend, gave him an old projector for a head. But he couldn’t have stayed stable all alone as he was now. 

_“And we had so much fun together. We thought we’d be friends forever. And we had so much fun together. We had so much fun.”_

His light had grown dimmer and dimmer as the lullaby drew to a close, the last verse not even audible from her moving lips. But it didn’t need to be; he felt it physically, and she felt it spiritually. That was enough. 

_“I built a friend.”_

The small world of this box and the creature in its doorway seemed to contain every drop of sadness and naivety. The sense of parenthood from before exchanged from the larger to the smaller of the two by the time it was quiet once more. And they stayed there for a minute or so, her soft sobs cradled in his hands, he unwittingly comforting her as she had tried to comfort him. His gaze could no longer be met in this exhausting moment, but his hold was so solid that all she could do was shut her eyes and pray. 

The moist, callous fingers stroked one last time before finally lingering off her face, content with her gift. The biggest searcher of all had found what he yearned for, what he first felt in the walls when she arrived, and he was satiated. Forever wordless, he still knew what Francine had brought was something good to have. Something he used to love, and still did…even if it would never be the same. 

And so after all that had happened, the mortal was the one granting mercy instead of receiving it like she had been promised. But he seemed to need it more than she, so that became her sole consolation. 

The projectionist’s looming figure retracted from the booth, one hand lowering to grip her arm. Once again, it was not tender, but it was indeed never to harm. An instinct for music came with an instinct for appreciation, and so he pulled her from the booth and led her away. 

She needn’t know how unusual it was for his grasp to not rip her apart. 

* * *

Francine looked back one last time at Norman as he stood no further than between the two entryways of the maze. He only stared, his body stiff as the light of his skull glinted and fuzzed around her being. Still hot and burning from tears, she managed to slowly give him a wave, the slightest of smiles fighting back the tides of despair. He seemed satisfied with such a small goodbye, crackling in reply as he turned away and lurched back to his chasms, neither hoping to see her again nor wondering who she was. Maybe he would long for that later, but for now this was enough for a man devoid of everything he once held dear. Norman had never been difficult to please in life, either. 

One last breath rose and fell from her, the hand she waved with now pressed at her chest in deliberation. 

No, not only that, she realized. 

As she too faced a new direction to a new fate, resolve whipped around her like a hailstorm. She didn’t get what she here came for, but thanks to Norman, she knew where it could be found. 

She approached the elevator one more time, off to see Alice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Built a Friend: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-nBI-ftWjTc


	5. By God's Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“‘The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be silent.’”_ – Exodus 14:14

He remembered, and once again this memory pierced him to his core. But unlike before, these recollections were…recent, in a way. They were the images of past society captured like a bug in amber, held in Francine’s young hands. The glinting horns that swayed in harmony; the faded, blurred recording of a couple swing dancing; and the-… 

As it came time to reminisce the sounds she immersed them in, he found it difficult to find words that properly conveyed such revolutionary emotion. Besides a few old records and radios that could hardly play at all, he had been deprived for the vast majority of his life the joy of someone playing music for _him._ Maybe that’s why he was so determined to make his own- a spiteful vengeance against the forces that wanted him to just lay down and die, even when they knew that was just not possible. 

Shoulderblades grazed against the wall he leaned onto, not even an inch away from the doorway to Heavenly Toys, but not daring to go any further lest it somehow tip Alice off to his waiting presence. Like when he was in front of the sign that held his name, his mask rested towards Francine- well, only this time he couldn’t see her. And so he observed the space she disappeared to, sight weak with worry and emotional exhaustion. 

He still felt it, though, in his fingertips. They curled in and out with both unease and wonder, fresh from three kinds of touch: that of her face, the piano, and of course- her phone. Each of the three had a special, striking cadence pulsing from his palms like a heartbeat...but… 

As he stared at the emptiness ahead, still anticipating her call or arrival, he didn’t know it was both she and him that felt vibrations of the past course through their whole body, filling them with awe and dread. His heart began to race like a beating drum. 

How much longer could he wait? 

* * *

There’s a very precise kind of ache one may experience like Francine did as she pressed a button on the elevator’s panel, uncaring which level she picked since she didn’t know at which Alice would even be. A forceful yet dull pain clasped the bottom of her skull and crawled down the back of her neck, eventually aligning with a heart sore from its anxiety. 

The doors clanked shut, and the passing levels put bars of light and shadow over and around her, as if she was a prop in her story instead of its lead. And indeed, she was beginning to feel how small she was. 

But then it became more. As the design of the elevator’s carved walls wrapped over her and the deep, heavy creaks of machinery echoed into the box, the transporter became a cage. Her eyes darted, unseeing, and her chest started to sting as its thump grew stronger and stronger. 

Yes, the numbness of absolute terror had waned, and she was finally allowed to accept what just happened- not just of her empathy for the projectionist, but that for herself. 

She stumbled back into the corner closest behind, one hand stroked against her throat. That’s where it was- that’s where his hand was. Just as quickly had her own touch cause her to feel sick, even after she then retracted it to cling to the wall. Her breathing shallow and quick, she evoked to her mind again the sound of the door slamming open, blinding light swallowing her like a path to the afterlife. She could feel now how sore her face still was, the unwitting projectionist roughening it with his cold, calloused fingers as she…she… 

As she thought for sure she was going to die. 

Even if she now knew that for some reason this did not happen, it couldn’t lessen the realizations of her mortality. And god almighty, she thought she could meet Alice again? Someone who harbored _actual_ animosity towards the woman?! 

It all fell upon her so suddenly and with such might that Francine collapsed in that small corner before the elevator had stopped, holding herself around the knees and digging her head where the walls met like it was a mother’s arms. 

She was so overwhelmed- so scared of this path she had chosen- that she didn’t hear the door ahead slide open. That or she simply didn’t care. 

Either way, the pitter patter of feet was left unnoticed. 

A monster unfamiliar to her entered the room from a hall just beyond, an inhumanly large, gaping mouth heaving irregular gasps of air. Their head perked, a single eye twitching up ahead at the sound of quiet sobs, the other sewn shut with a sloppy "x." Wild with ferocity of unknown origin, Piper stepped forward around the last corner, ready to attack- 

**And he was there.**

As the woman cried to herself, so aware of her vulnerability that she forgot to attend to it, she did not hear nor see what the Piper did. Not even the strokes of grey enveloping the whole room could awaken her from the distress of mortal flesh. Not even the demon’s giant, looming shadow that lay ahead her feet, nor his raspy, unnatural breath. Not even as he stood so close that the **drips** almost fell upon her skin, clinking gently against the metal and beginning to pool a few feet from where she lay. 

The half-mechanical toon had not only the instincts of a hunter but also of the hunted, and so after a few seconds of wittnessing the unbelievable, Bendy mercifully granted them retreat. As the beast ran, his horrid, gutting smile branded onto their back. They’d know not to give in to that impulse again, not when **he** was there. 

A soft click rang in the air, and Francine opened her eyes only to see the darkness of a moving elevator returning, down to the right floor this time around. But it would be so strangely soon that a disciple would be destined to meet the ink demon yet again. 

The speakers overhead remained silent the entire time. 

* * *

Sammy was ready to fling himself into what he dreaded most, finally seeing how disturbingly long Francine had been away. He felt dread prickle his flesh like knives- perhaps a phantom of the days he could have goosebumps pluck his skin. Not a single voice had been audible since the woman left his sight, not even the angered yelling of the angel. 

He had waited too long. He had waited too long. _He had waited too long-_

A mad dash for his friend ended as soon as it began, and one kind of fear was replaced with another. He was barely capable of voicing it. 

“My…my lord…!” 

Bendy had emerged from a portal of shadowy oblivion, painting the world with his ethereal darkness. On sight, Sammy fell to the floor in reverence of his master, only willing to look down upon his hands and the floor beneath them swallowed by the ink demon’s essence. He witnessed drops from his own head land next to his shaking fingers, alongside the drips of his lord. 

Sammy felt him breathing over his back. 

“My lord, my lord, I-” 

He had dared to look up, a fake face looking upon that of the one it wished to emulate. Two accursed grins opposed each other, one trembling and the other unmoved. As the prophet cowered under his deity, the grating silence that cut his soul eventually led him to a terrible possibility. It made him throw his head down in total desolation. 

“I…I let her go.” Sammy almost choked on his own words, barely stumbling out of his mouth. “I let her go without me,” he confessed, so quiet that it was hardly audible. 

… _Was it_ audible? 

Sammy’s quivering, tightened shoulders rose as he gazed towards his god again, having comprehended he had yet to be torn apart once more for such heinous, unforgivable sins. Where was his penalty? 

“My lord?” 

Bendy was only smiling down at the disciple, his figure filling the entire height of the doorway. Light from the room ahead lined the silhouette of a being molded from the same blood as the shepherd, and it only seemed to stand there so his glory be beheld. The single reply Sammy received was the behemoth’s organic stillness. His…waiting. 

_“Ink demon!”_ Sammy scrambled up to his knees, arms outstretched and accepting of whatever his talons may bring. “I’ve- I’ve failed you!” More quietly this time, weighty with realization. “I’ve…failed you.” He looked again to his lord in preparation of the punishment he was certainly worthy to receive. 

But it was only the sound of his breathing. Only the sight of his unchanging sneer. 

It filled Sammy with unbearable flabbergast, bits of his arms falling with his lord’s rain as he confronted his cowardice. 

_“INK DEMON!!!”_ the prophet commanded his god. 

Nothing for the one who questioned that which gave him life. Slushy forearms lowering to his lap, Sammy could only stare up at teasing omniscience. 

It was recalled then that this wasn’t the first time he was confronted by his lord, forced to see only the near-silent but all-knowing visage of a cartoon morphed by immortality. And like before, Sammy was left to his own devices to discover Bendy’s intent for him. 

What was he missing? What was he missing? What- 

The shepherd suddenly bolted up to his feet, renewed by purpose and understanding. 

“Y-yes! You want me to- I’ll save her! _I’ll rescue her, my-”_

As soon as he stepped forward once again, he was thrown back to the floor where he belonged. 

Groaning, Sammy held his stomach as Bendy remained in the doorway, not as an inspiration but as a gatekeeper. He had deemed that the prophet shall not pass. 

Some of his damned body seeped into cracks of the floorboards, melting away as his assurance did. Sammy could only guess what fate- no, what _God_ could possibly be asking of him in this moment. 

Yes, Bendy would ensure there would be no interruption as a morbid curiosity was finally indulged.


	6. Souls in Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“And to bring to light for everyone what is the plan of the mystery hidden for ages in God who created all things…”_ \- Ephesians 3:9

The elevator doors creaked once more, opening to an impressive, wide room; she could see halls and stairs carved into it and beams horizontally placed just below the ceiling. By this point, something had compelled the woman to finally stand up. Almost as if the elevator grew impatient with her suffering, it had taken her to another, previously unseen floor. She rubbed a tear off her cheek, contemplating her circumstances. Yes, she was absolutely frightened- not that she hadn’t been previously, but…this was different, somehow. At least before, she had learned that Sammy was her ally…well, she did eventually. The other cursed beings she met hadn’t shown her such kindness. 

She frowned a bit. Even though she was only thinking to herself, she still felt guilty and found it necessary to correct this notion. 

No, Norman wasn’t necessarily unkind. After that moment of reticence in the moving box, Francine started to have a sense that he was just simply…out of his own control. Touching her roughened neck one last time with a wince, she looked up ahead, shadow from the overhead lights lining her brow. 

And as she gazed upon yet another space left for a stranger to wander, cut wood and sharpened metal leaking ink like a giant’s open sore, every soul of the studio seemed to latch onto hers. Sammy was still correct in his assumption as he allowed her to enter the angel’s abyss; she did want this more than he. 

Why, though? 

She took her first step out of the cubed cage, the sole of her shoe tapping into a quiet world. Her feelings for and about the inky beings followed her, leeching away what used to be a thriving drive for self-preservation. 

On the surface, she seemed very resigned to this new life of 1930s hell. And in a way, she was- but it was a resignation to _survive._ And for her, it didn’t just mean physical survival. No, Sammy wasn’t the only one who knew that life without belief wasn’t a life worth living. So what did she believe in? A lot of things, as many people do. But dire circumstances can make it clear what matters most to someone, and that’s what it did for her. And with their reveal, she found she was not satisfied. 

She looked side to side, observing that there were again a few paths to take. The left seemed to be a narrow hall, and it traced around a lowered room directly ahead. To her right, a closed door. Three paths, then. Which to take? 

Another step was taken to look over the middle path. Her eyes shot open, hearing a crackle from a speaker above…but no one spoke. She didn’t wonder why it was so, but it made her remember Alice was still watching. A shiver crawled up her spine. 

Why did she want Francine to see Norman? And why did she seem so…hurt, angry? What did Sammy even _do_ to warrant such emotion? Of course, all these questions could be summarized as one: What did Alice know? As she seemed to hold a key to Sammy’s lost past, the woman had decided unconsciously that is was also the key to understanding the studio and her new existence. In Francine’s view, Alice was the piecer of puzzles, the keeper of mysteries, the only one who seemed to understand. 

How strange was it that Alice was starting to see the mortal in the same way. 

_“Don’t come any closer!”_

As Francine strayed down the staircase, the voice came yet again to halt her in her tracks. It caused her concern, of course, but something was… _off._ It was a tone that the angel had never used before, and so it was a surprise to hear her capable of it. This wasn’t just a call of anger. It was a call of _desperation._

Bizarrely, Alice was beyond rage and beginning to drift into pure upset. It grasped something inside the woman, and her brow furrowed. “L-listen, Alice,” she boldly called out into nothingness, “I…” It took a second to find the right words, the speaker silent as if Alice was holding her breath. “Remember when…you told me I looked scared?” 

No answer. She continued anyway. 

“I’m… _still_ scared,” she admitted, her own voice quaking as she heard herself speak. But the silence remained, leaving her unsure if Alice was pondering or waiting for more. She had more to say, and so Francine finally let her heart pour out, as was her first instinct when she met the angel some time before. 

“I’m…I’m really, _really_ scared. And I think-” Francine swallowed. This next statement was so stupidly risky. But it was her truth. “I think for some reason…you’re scared, too?” 

The woman couldn’t understand why, but she and Alice seemed akin in their discomfort, their uncertainty of fate. Maybe if the mortal admitted her feelings, her overseer may soften as well. 

Again, nothing. With a heavy yet quickened heart, Francine started to walk towards a small bridge looming above a river of ink- 

“Stay. Away.”

The slightly deeper of the voices returned, and despite its muted restraint, the poison it contained still seeped the air with an echo. But instead of quenching the woman’s fires, they only burned brighter and higher. 

Sammy, Norman, and even Alice herself seemed to clasp upon Francine’s shoulders, overcoming her with grief and longing. She felt what must have been their anguish and eternal suffering. Her eyes started to tighten, cheeks pushed upward as she clenched her teeth. All along, everyone seemed to be overwhelmed by her presence and ordered her time after time to leave, like she didn’t belong anywhere in this place that served as her prison. Hell, even an elevator had gotten sick of her. It made her feel…discarded; it was hard enough to be by the life she should have been living right now in the outside, but it stung so, so badly to not even have somewhere to be when she couldn’t escape at all. 

She decided then that she was here to stay. 

“Where are you going?!” Alice’s voice flew over the woman’s head as she clenched her fists, marching over the bridge. It was Francine’s turn not to answer, probably unable to as doggedness twisted her chest so forcefully that her temples grew sore. The last word of the seraph dissolved into a gasp, and then-…into a hearty, mocking laugh. 

“You think you can walk the path of angels, little girl? I’d like to see you try.” 

The mortal’s chin lifted up as she stood at the foot of yet another staircase. An angel rested above, holding a scroll that- unlike her living counterpart- welcomed Francine to enter cloud nine. Underneath was a solid metal wall, likely a bolstered door. She stopped yet again. How foolish was she to let her need for answers face someone she knew nothing about, besides that they hadn’t hesitated to send shards of glass flying right at her? But again…what made her afraid was what fueled her actions. Even as Alice pushed herself further and further away, Francine only wanted to get closer. The fact she knew nothing made her want to know everything. If this was her life now…it wasn’t worth living if she couldn’t understand it. 

“Well?” the angel interrupted, “What are you going to do?” 

Oh, how little did Alice Angel comprehend that this wasn’t a tease she had uttered but an invitation. 

“I-…What?” And then Alice said nothing more as Francine came to the top of the stairs to the enormous figurine’s open arms. With her last step, almost as a command-…the impenetrable metal door had begun to open for Francine. It was like she was a king returning to his court waiting with baited breath, exalting her presence with laud and grandeur. 

The horrid scrape of metal upon metal as the gate finished was accompanied by an equally unsettling screech from every speaker. 

“WHAT?! _WHAT?!_ How…how did you-?!” 

The audio paused, silenced by a recognition that seemed to elude Francine. As her ears flooded with adrenaline and spite, the woman would hear the words that did eventually come, but not their meaning. To her, they were only more of Alice’s insistence she be left alone. Well, Francine wasn’t going to let that happen. Not when she was stuck in this fucking place for God knows how long and questions were still left to be answered. And so, Alice Angel’s next cries were misinterpreted to be of the same kind, their true nature unappreciated. 

“No! NO!!! What are you doing?! _STAY AWAY FROM ME! LEAVE!!! NOW!!!”_

Francine didn’t know that up until this second for decade after decade, Alice had believed she was the only one who could open that door. And she certainly didn’t want it to in this moment…and yet it _did._ The angel was realizing in horror that even in heaven, there was a god more powerful than she. The woman was right; Alice was scared. Scared of _her._

There was one voice left unremembered, one man that Francine now knew but had forgotten to consider as she tried to carry the burdens of every prisoner of the studio. And yet, his musings rang most true: 

_“What a positively silly thought.”_

* * *

The hallway definitely wasn’t as long as it felt. Maybe it was the angel’s growls and cries, indistinguishable to the mortal’s foolish idea of what this situation meant. Maybe it was the tables along the way, toys and paper left untouched woven into spiders’ long abandoned webs. Maybe it was how suffocatingly close the walls were, seeming like organs of a mechanical behemoth that had swallowed them all, pumps and gears moving and whistling all around her. 

How mistaken was she to think that its release to an open room would bring only relief. The shadows had lifted, but an absolute nightmare fell as she came upon a cavern of _corpses._

Of course, she gasped and she shook in utter terror, but she wasn’t the only one doing so. 

While Francine took in only what she could see, Alice could only dwell upon what it was this scene was missing. As the seraph accepted that evil had entered her home, she could only ask it one question: 

“…What else can you take from me?” 

Even as the sight of monsters strapped to a few of the tables gaped at her with dead eyes, the woman was maybe cut most by the invisible- the sounds of someone besides herself sobbing. It was Alice, totally despondent for a reason beyond her comprehension; it betrayed a desperation to keep whatever it was she had left that the ink demon demanded he take. 

“They’re all gone, Francine…” The angel above sniffled. “Every last Boris. _He took them. He took them from me. All of them!”_

The mortal stood still, chilled to the bone as an empty, Frankenstein-type vertical bed stood next to her side. Their backdrop a true ocean of ink, she didn’t know something used to be strapped there. 

Or someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you remember when I said that this AU was the same or nearly the same as when chapters 1-3 occurred?
> 
> That wasn't entirely true of me to say.


	7. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Then the LORD said, ‘If they do not believe you or pay attention to the first sign, they may believe the second.’"_ – Exodus 4:8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it's not clear, this is a flashback. I thought it'd be best to keep it apart from the rest of the story.

One hand supported her chin as the other tapped with boredom against the living room table. _Pa-tump. Pa-tump. Pa-tump._ A slow blink fell, beginning to carry the stress of idleness. She curled her fingers onto the wood like it was a piano’s keys- and one last time, it was too forceful. She suddenly felt something shift underneath their tips. 

Nothing moving but her gaze, the woman glanced down. Underneath her left hand was a paper; some sort of writing was obscured beneath her palm. She lifted it, and what it revealed made her head tilt and one eyebrow raise. 

“Hey Sammy,” she chimed for him. In the corner of her sight, Sammy lifted his mask to face her, banjo on his lap as he casually sat upon the floor to fiddle with it. In return, he saw her gesture with a momentary nod towards the table. “Who’s this?” 

It was indistinguishable if Sammy’s exhalation was a sigh or a groan as he slowly came to his feet, neck of his favorite instrument still in his grip. And as he stood over the paper, he too tilted his head. 

“Henry and Boris,” Francine read. They were the titles over rows of tally marks, organized in a way not unfamiliar to anyone that had played a series of games to pass a long, rainy day. Her tone seemed to carry both amusement that eased the stale drear of the apartment as well as genuine curiosity. She stared at the paper for a bit longer, waiting for Sammy to respond. When he didn’t, she turned up again to look at him. 

"Ring any bells?” 

As she realized that silence had fallen heavily upon him, it was unknown to her if it was because he didn’t understand that phrase, or if it was yet another episode of drowning memories trying to crawl to the surface of his consciousness. 

Either way, he seemed dismissive. 

“I’m certain you’ve seen a ‘Boris’ on some of the posters that line the walls, Francine.” 

She had to concede to that, and she admitted so with a few sideways bobs of the neck and a small, “Ah, yeah.” It was a wolf, right? Certainly seemed more like a Goofy rip-off, if she recalled. But anyway, so that took care of that. 

“Wait, but what about-?” 

But as she looked to him again to inquire about the other name, she saw his back was already turned at her, lingering into the doorway and eventually leaving down the hall. 

She frowned, and her brow furrowed in annoyance. There was no awareness that this instance would be of any significance; she was merely frustrated with the man’s wandering mind. 

And so the moment passed without any acknowledgment about how odd it would be for two people she believed to be all alone in the world to find evidence that at some point, there had at least been two more. She recognized the nature of a game without recalling that in order for one to play it, it was required they physically exist in the first place.


	8. Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“And do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell.”_ – Matthew 10:28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School has been...a lot, so I took the opportunity to pump out another chapter. I'm coming to some subjects that reveal the nature of my studio a bit more, so its been more difficult. If you guys haven't seen it yet, I have new fanart from a lovely friend! 
> 
> https://metallicartist.tumblr.com/post/172379231107/ever-feel-like-you-wana-read-a-good-fic-dont

Once again, the woman’s gut instincts of fear were accompanied by the angel’s laugh, slowly arising from a disheartened voice. This time, however, was different. As Francine felt her shoulders heave up and down and her eyes widen- but still unable to accept what they saw-, it was perceived that Alice’s response was of complete and utter mockery. 

“Stop playing the fool!” she boomed from overhead. It was a sentence still tinged by the strange, inexplicable sorrow of her previous words, but it seemed that the mortal’s reaction irked her beyond annoyance. “I may not know who you are, but I KNOW where you came from!” 

Francine was so overwhelmed with the sight of mutilated cartoon corpses strapped down and dangled like an array of discarded toys that she found herself shaking. Even as the angel confused her beyond belief, she was at least welcome to distract her from the horrors ahead. And so, Francine looked up to the speakers and waited for more of heaven’s fury to speak down. 

She shouldn’t have been so welcoming of it. 

_“He followed you here…!”_ The sweeter voice was…whimpering. How dreadful was it that Francine wasn’t the only one shaken by these events. _“The ink demon followed you here…! You- you led him to me! I WON’T LET HIM TAKE ME BACK!”_

Such a spew of unknown information was so overpowering that there was only one way the woman could respond. 

“He-…led-…what?!” 

_“I-I saw him!”_ the angel began to confess, momentarily putting aside her fear of the woman in order to rationalize to herself. “He was with you! He came with you! HE SENT YOU HERE!” 

And although Francine didn’t yet know this to be true, there was an assumption the angel had made thereafter. 

Somewhere, Alice was besieged with the possibility that Francine, in her association- even friendship- with Sammy and the demon, could be here to strip the seraph of everything she had left. 

Of course, this wasn’t why Francine came at all. Neither the angel nor the woman knew the full truth, but each had a piece of it. That, however, was not enough for reconciliation. In a feeble voice projecting as loud as her exhausted body would allow, the woman called into nothingness, trying to find some understanding- 

But was quickly interrupted. 

“I’m not playing this game!” The seething tone, although filled with hatred, could not hide the total, utter desperation of a being scared to lose all that remained of her. “If you come any closer, I’ll-...I’ll kill you.” 

The last word, soft with resolution, echoed down into the inky ocean and through Francine’s soul. How was the woman to react? All she wanted was to understand a little more- live maybe even a little more comfortably, at peace till the day “he set them free.” She was sent on a wild goose chase in search of Sammy’s truth to Norman and his cave of lonely darkness. When he could tell her nothing, Francine had decided the most logical choice would be to come to the angel herself, the one who had betrayed the first hint of knowledge regarding who everyone was, who this place used to be. And now, she was just finding out that maybe, just maybe, the god of this world had been over her shoulder at least at some point without her knowing. 

And so, surrounded time after time by only the most ghastly of images and the most heartbreaking of realities, it shouldn’t have been as much of a surprise as it was for Francine to simply look down to the floor in thought, look back up again in resolve, and turn to leave. 

Regardless, this was not what Alice had expected. 

“What are you doing?!” Maybe if the angel’s assumptions were correct- that Francine herself was not only associated with the demon but in his control- this would be a foolish question to ask, teasing the one who wished her pain just after bidding her release. But this was also why such inquiries had to be made; if Francine came all this way, why turn back?” 

It was simple: 

“I’m…I’m just…” The woman closed her eyes, knowing the right words but struggling to speak them. “I’m so tired. I’m so tired of this.” They opened, narrowed slits underneath a brow furrowed with a frustration that was beginning to seed into something more resentful. “I’m not playing this fucking game either.” 

The exhaustion of this inky world had culminated into an outright threat to end her life merely for wishing to accept it, falling out of Alice’s mouth and weighing the woman down more than any other trial had done before. This denial, out of everything this bitch of a studio had thrown at her, was the one that finally filled her with rage. 

“I just wanted to- you know!- get some damn answers about who you FUCKING people _ARE.”_ Almost as if Alice was standing right behind her instead of lurking someplace else, Francine turned around with a grin poisoned with sarcasm and a shrug that was the epitome of complete and utter exasperation. “Sammy doesn’t know who the hell he even is; you sent me to talk to a guy who can’t TALK; and so I came down here to _mayyyybe_ ask _you-_ who I thought might be the only person who knows fucking _anything about this damn place-_ and you wanna kill me. Well, that’s GREAT.” She exhaled heavily, but it brought no release of her tension. “Oh! And I just found out that a fucking demon might be following around without me noticing! So that’s all! Just! _GREAT!”_

It was all so utterly ridiculous that it could only be conveyed in a ridiculous tone, ended with a flourish of arms throwing themselves down. It was the only way Francine could wrap her head around all the confusion and injustice that swallowed her every move, her very existence. Even so, there was something that bothered her so much, it could only be taken seriously. 

“I just…wanted to talk.” She shook her head, but the weariness would not fall away. “But you obviously don’t want to, so…” 

The woman couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. This was already too much. She turned back around with a groan and a fling of her wrist, as if it was discarding everything she had hoped to achieve here, when- 

“Wait.” 

Francine looked back once more into this horrid place, compelled by a voice maybe not gentle, but at least a bit more empathetic…even if it still was wary of all that the woman brought with her. 

“You just wanted to talk?” Alice asked, sounding incredulous. 

“Yeah,” Francine replied bluntly, softly. 

There wasn’t another sound for several breaths. Just as the woman considered leaving once more, Alice returned to her. 

“The demon…is no longer with us, I see. Fine.” 

… 

“Fine what?” Francine asked. 

It began with a groan, the angel’s regular tone of condescendence returning to her. “Let us speak. Finish walking this path and see if you’re ready to talk with angels.” 

And the speaker clicked again, signaling its finish. Although physically she was alone the entire time, it was only as the fuzz of audio drifted away that the woman felt she was truly without a single soul. 

In the very least, the absolutely nightmarish bodies around her didn’t seem to have one anymore. 

But before she could even think about the consequences of actually meeting Alice once again- especially after all that she had just said-, Francine had to address a very real concern. 

The path ahead could hardly be called so. It was planks of wood held up like a makeshift bridge over a massive pool of ink who knows how deep, drawn around different structures, some of which much too close for her liking to the dead monsters. She looked down at her feet yet again, just past her stomach. She could easily see her uncoordinated self tumbling into the dark waters at the closer sight of one of those things. Or worse yet- she could see herself tripping _into_ one of them. 

She pursed her lips and hummed in thought, even when she already knew the probably very stupid thing she was going to do. 

Shoes stuffed with their socks in one hand and the other stretched next to her side for balance, Francine felt unfathomable shivers crawl up her spine as she waded through the ink to the other side of the room.


	9. Who They Used to Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“The plans of the heart belong to man, but the answer of the tongue is from the Lord.”_ \- Proverbs 16:1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got more art from MetallicArtist on tumblr!!!! Please look, it's so SO wonderful!
> 
>  
> 
> https://metallicartist.tumblr.com/post/172841822812/pipesflowforeverandever-last-nights-stream-was-a  
> https://metallicartist.tumblr.com/post/172941530602/another-piece-for-the-wonderful  
> https://metallicartist.tumblr.com/post/173097202857/another-page-for-pipesflowforeverandever

_“Do you know what it feels like?”_

The words came just as she stepped onto the platform across the room, ink once again lingering off her lower body and back into the pool, a ferrofluid ocean of black. She dropped her shoes upon the ground and had begun to replace them back to her feet as the next statement followed. 

“The suffocating, inky _darkness_ that chokes this studio every waking moment? The suffering- the struggle to simply be a _person again_ \- denied to me at every opportunity, just as I have hope it’s within my grasp.” 

Francine’s palm touched the doorframe, approaching the final entrance. 

“I didn’t send you to Norman just to watch you squirm, silly cherub. I sent you to him so that you can finally _understand._ There’s such a terrible audacity about you- how you walk among us, flesh and blood, and think that simply talking can lead everyone to their own personal solace. NO!” 

As Alice spoke to her, the last statement made the woman flinch. Was it in fear? Yes, but not of the usual kind. For once, she was afraid she was wrong. 

Could…could she have been wrong for wanting what she did from these people? 

“We all suffer here, Francine. And we always will. _The most we can do is just try to search for what used to make us human.”_

As Francine clenched her left fist and stepped into the dark hall, a correction was made: 

“…Some of us more misguided than others.” 

Shadow swallowed her. It also swallowed something else- the noise. 

“We’re all _so_ selfish, Francine. I can’t trust anyone- ANYONE- to help me be the perfect Alice… _not even you._ So, why would _anyone_ trust you then, if even I cannot?” 

Indeed, the walls were muting the angel’s voice. It betrayed that finally, finally, Alice was physically present somewhere up ahead. That wasn’t the only thing that gave her shivers. Just as Francine broke through darkness’s veil, someone stood up ahead, and she had a message from above. 

“And that’s why it’s so…SO interesting Sammy seems to have allowed you live.” 

A silhouette was straightened from its lean on what appeared to be a podium atop a stage. No, it couldn’t be that; it had a metallic sheen at its back. Either way, this was her world now. The woman had begged her way into it, and by God Alice would make sure she’d get everything she was in for. 

“Tell me, did he try to kill you already? Or do you still have that coming?” A bit of white flittered above an empty eyesocket- the curve of a horn through the dim lighting. “Do you… ‘believe’ in his savior, that horrible wretch that patrols these halls, waiting to take us back to those _terrible, AGONIZING PUDDLES?!”_

Oh, how fast did a monologue devolve into a wound as open as the ripped side of her face. With a shriek, the angel threw back her arms with balled fists, one confirming the large object was, indeed, metal as it slammed against its side. Finally, Francine would be taught her place. 

“DO YOU EVEN KNOW _WHO I USED TO BE?!”_

The slight bend forward at her waist deepened, Alice’s head dipping to look at the floor. A soft noise. 

Crying. 

She was crying. 

And suddenly: 

_“I don’t think I’ve ever shown anyone. I never had a reason to.”_ The angel straightened up once more, a strange sort of resolution etched upon her face. “…Until today.” 

And although Francine came here to talk, it was clear that this was Alice’s time. And if the prophet was going to have his story told- the one who threw away everything he was-, then Alice would be damned if she wouldn’t have her own peace. Not that Francine could talk back now anyway. 

Especially not as the angel’s hand- gloved by ink- suddenly held her uncoated one. 

Black fingers stroked over her forearm, almost as if feeling what she would never have again, until their tips came to the woman’s palm. There was a small press just before mortal hands were gently closed shut, and the angel slowly pulled away just as mildly- so extraordinarily mildly- as she came. Mouth agape and shaking, Francine looked up in time to see a sliver of Alice’s face as she began to turn her back, hair and halo glistening underneath lightbulbs. 

_“…Do you think you can help him?”_ Such a small laugh then, hollowed by the decay of both body and spirit. _“I’m not sure you can even help yourself.”_

It was such a grave, unsettling tone; it was like Alice was asking this to a god above rather than who stood before her, as if they were all helpless but to see whatever the woman would do- whatever would be done to her. Indeed, Alice’s opinion of her changed over and over, much like Sammy’s had. In the eyes of an angel, Francine was a fool. Her pursuit of “truth” was no truth at all. Of course, Alice was agitated. After all, the last fully human person that graced her presence had brought with him the worst of fates. She had plenty of reason to be tired and wary of one such as the woman. 

And yet. 

“Don’t be a bleedingheart, little cherub,” she began, voice abruptly firm, “Not if you don’t want to wake up in a pool of your own blood. If you leave me be, I’ll leave you be. And so my advice to you? Leave us ALL be if you want to stay alive- IF you can stay alive,” she added, remembering the demon. But then the one wearing its face came to mind again, and her purpose with the mortal returned. One last squint fell over her shoulder as Alice stepped back onto the stage, one arm stretched up to grab a handle at the ceiling. “Don’t trust him.” 

And just as quickly as it began, Alice once again barred herself from the rest of the world, a metal sheet crashing down to separate the two women one last time. 

Francine needn’t know how strange it was for Alice to open up in the first place. 

* * *

It was a minute or two before it was certain the mortal had left her. Even as a wall now separated them, it was not enough to serve as her quarantine. How terribly disturbing it is to allow someone to get so close. A question rang through her mind as she gazed at her now empty hands. 

Why allow it at all? 

Indeed, it greatly confused her. Everything about the woman confused her, but somehow it was how Alice reacted that became the most perplexing. It was only minutes ago that Francine’s life was threatened, Alice afraid of whatever the ink demon intended as she witnessed him linger over the mortal as she journeyed his halls. 

But it wasn’t only one kind of fear she felt. For the first time in a long time…she feared for someone besides herself. The possibility came that she should be fearing for Francine. 

It was undeniable that her very nature was almost a calling card to trouble. Persistent. Outrageous. _Tactless._ This was all true. But…- 

Alice felt one side of her lips purse. 

…She didn’t seem to be anything more than that. Certainly not a being she’d expect to be in association with the demon. She showed neither Sammy’s fervor for Bendy nor the “lord’s” power, and so the woman’s place in this studio was so very unusual. It didn’t make sense unless she was hiding something-… 

A chill ran up her spine at yet another twist in the ropes that tied them together. 

-Or unless something was hidden from her. 

And so Alice herself was twisting and turning with her plans and emotions, her care for the woman’s destiny so deep that her only choice? It was to remain neutral. She had to detach. She had to. It was the only way to reconcile both the great resentment and the great worry that the mortal’s presence had rained down upon her, as split as the seraph’s face. One last thought cut from her mind into her heart, sharp with uncertainty. 

_“God help her.”_

* * *

Francine didn’t stop walking until she was once again in the room of corpses. Somehow, some way, such a horror was a relief from that confessional. It barely grazed over her head the irony that the one that wished to talk didn’t end up talking at all; it was already so overwhelming. It felt like being scolded in the most insulting of ways- _rightfully_ critiquing her existence in a way Francine had never considered before- and then being shoved back out the door. She didn’t even get to- 

She was so shaken that her only reaction to realizing she had forgotten to ask about Sammy was to put a quivering hand to a forehead drenched in sweat. 

She found she could not, however, as something was in its way. 

The hand fell before her stomach and she uncurled just one of the fingers of her fist. As she did, a sharp corner of yellow teased its way into sight. 

Soon in her grasp was a piece of paper, white creased into it like veins where the folds had been. It trembled alongside she, but even so, its image stayed clear. In dulled black and white sat a woman- dark hair, pale skin, painted lips. In her own hands she also held a paper, what seemed to be a script seeing how a microphone sat in front of the lady’s elbows, bent onto the table in a casual manner. What pointed to it, however, was another’s hand. Over her shoulder was standing who seemed to be a young, dark-skinned man with large glasses and a noticeable tuft of hair at the front of his head, under which was a brow raised in what seemed to be the interest of normal conversation. It was small, but a slight dent at his right cheek betrayed the hint of a growing smile. 

They looked happy.


	10. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“When the LORD brought back the captive ones of Zion, we were like those who dream.”_ \- Psalm 126:1

And then she began to doubt. 

There’s an ache left in your heart if one expects something in particular. The more important it is to you, the worse it feels, as if something was taken away from you even if it wasn’t yours in the first place. That’s the pain Francine felt as she journeyed all the way back from whence she came. 

Oh, how did it make her stomach turn to hear music pump from her phone once again, vibration filling her hand with an energy she no longer possessed. 

Down through the black lake once more. 

_“Don’t trust him.”_

She remembered when they first met. How the light glistened over his torso as he stood over her. He took her. _He took her._

_“Don’t trust him.”_

Being tied up was the most horrific moment of her entire life as they waited for Bendy to take her, like a crucified scarecrow. His anger at her rescue, his lord’s sparing. His staring. _His staring._

_“Don’t trust him.”_

Nothing could explain how it felt to put her life in his hands. She felt like a lamb to the slaughter every second up until they finally clasped hands for that first time. It took so long to finally comprehend that she was safe with him, as safe as he could make her. 

But was she ever? 

It’s easy to pick out the bad things, isn’t it? Especially when you felt so firm about someone you cared about, so steady in your goal to save him and yourself. Especially when you’re suddenly not so sure that everything you believed in was the truth at all. 

That’s what she had to face as she was confronted by her own relentless pursuit of what would bring her comfort, now unknowing if it was what would truly help the lost souls she had so briefly met yet cared so much for. 

If it was all just a pencil and a dream, then none of these people deserved any of this. Maybe nothing could make them deserve this. She couldn’t think of anything that would. 

_“Don’t trust him.”_

Alice was…so scared of the demon. She could tell. It was Francine’s folly to absorb the reverent tone Sammy preached for his lord, a never-ceasing faith that made the former musician center his entire existence around it. And now she had realized that unconsciously, a faith had started to grow in her too. He saved her life after all. He gave her the phone back. And like an ubiquitous god, Bendy had followed her during this epoch of tragedy. Certainly he…he _had_ to be something akin to godliness, at least brushing the rim of that line between mere magic and complete and utter omnipotence. 

But if he was a god, what kind of god was he? 

Ironic timing to ask herself this as she finally stepped out of the toy factory, a gasp escaping her lips as eyes shot open. 

There he was. 

And there was Sammy. 

_“Don’t trust him.”_

And just as she gazed upon them, they gazed upon her, like she was a miracle shining as it descended down to greet them. But even so, as Bendy’s eyeless watch slid past the inky waterfall that tried to separate them, he was somehow still the one that held all unearthly glory. 

It was particularly blaring to accept as Sammy rested by the demon’s feet, a desperate reach- a plea- interrupted as what he longed for had returned. 

And just like that, the woman found two of the same face doing nothing but waiting for her. But with all the thoughts spiraling through her head, the usual amazement of the demon’s presence coincided with a new, much more disturbing thought, now that she saw the lord and his prophet together at last. 

Conspiracy. 

**Drip.**

It hadn’t before in this moment, but suddenly the splash of the ink demon’s aura had come to her, lapping at her feet like gentle waves. And from the ceiling, a single, small drop of ink had fallen onto her wrist, a touch as tender as the angel’s. 

It reminded her she really didn’t know which deity she should trust. 

And as she blinked down at her forearm at this, observing the bead of liquid void spread over her shape, she finally looked up again to see the remains of shadowy oblivion incarnate step out of the room, Bendy entering his portal once more. She could have sworn he looked at her one last time, just as he did so. 

Then it was emptiness. 

Sammy remained as he was, in his pathetic, begging state, asking his lord to let her come back. But she had come on her own. Relief battled with absolute perplexity as a quietly panting, near-sobbing Lawrence kneeled at the rightmost exit exactly where she left him; she now saw the aching, suffering man he had always been. 

She didn’t know if it was a man that cared for her alongside worship of the demon or despite it. How strange is it that a simple phrase can change so many before it, valid or otherwise. 

She had no choice but to come to him, all the same. 

Arms formerly stretched out to his lord now came for the woman until the two beings met in the middle. The spot on her wrist was smeared even more as he pulled her back out of the angel’s lair as fast as he could. It was a reunion steeped so deeply in discomfort that she didn’t notice the stairs she used to come down to him were only moments ago so broken that falling onto their debris would have killed her. He didn’t feel the paper in the hand he clasped. 

A song of twinkling dread came from her other hand as their figures lapsed into the darkness of machines. 

Someone was beginning to regret their curiosity. 

_“God help her.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First up, here's the song intended to match the moment:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3MOCv_-GSBs&t=48s
> 
> Secondly, more art from the lovely Metallic!  
> https://metallicartist.tumblr.com/post/173173646032/here-is-one-of-the-last-pics-for
> 
> Third, this is the last chapter until the next part of the fic is started as a new work! Once again, my intention is to make it a direct continuation of what just happened here. A lot has happened since I started writing this and I deeply, sincerely, from the bottom of my heart love all of you for reading it and giving me support. You're the best!
> 
> Look for a new work called "Flickers of Faith" sometime soon~!

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve actually gotten so much art that the character limit won’t let me put in all the links at the end notes! WOW!!!! Thank you, everyone!!! You’re all amazing and ilysm!!!! <3  
> I will be adding links to fanart as I post chapters, but please check the following tags. I’ve categorized things by arc/drabble so that you don’t get spoilers.
> 
> The overall tag for Hymns fanart is here:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/hymns-art
> 
> The tag for Hymns of Struggle as the first work alone is here:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/hos-art
> 
> Wonders of Heresy:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/wonders-art
> 
> Parables of Empathy (the part you just read):  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/parables-art
> 
> Flickers of Faith:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/flickers-art
> 
> Tides of Longing:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/tides-art
> 
> Cares of Communion:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/cares-art
> 
> Dances of Duality:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/dances-art
> 
> A Rock in the River:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/a-rock-in-the-river-art
> 
> What’s Not Yours:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/wny-art
> 
> General/Crossover Art:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/general-art
> 
> Any art involving Gingie (the Joey of this AU):  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/gingie-art
> 
> And a commission of Gingie painted by my good friend Ace hehe:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/177183125008/aceofintuition-is-there-anything-quite-so
> 
>  **And here’s a playlist I’ve made:**  
>  https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLY8pGhalYoCuHX0dLpmuY3jNYntmUjltg
> 
>  **Read this if you plan on being so kind as to make me art yourself!!!!** (Some of it applies to content not canon to Hymns but still applies here):  
>  https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/176339938068/so-with-aces-permission-im-going-to-sort-of-add
> 
> Thank you everyone for your support!!!!!! I couldn’t do it without you!!! <3 <3 <3 Special thanks to the artists that have given me so, so much more than I could ever ask for:  
> Ace, Star, Silver, Gia, Metallic, Lil Griffin, Ufopilots, June, Halfie, Fern, Moonshadow0, Mango, CrowSketches, A-Rae-Of-Sunshine, Queen
> 
>  **THIS ISN'T THE END OF THE FIC, BY THE WAY!** Go ahead and read the next work in this series!


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